


Muddle Through Somehow

by Cuda (Scylla)



Category: Supernatural, Superwood - Fandom, Torchwood
Genre: Anal Sex, Christmas At the Torchwood Hub, Christmas Eve, Harkstiel, M/M, Porn With Plot, Pre-Series, The Hub (Torchwood)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 00:24:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5353922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scylla/pseuds/Cuda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pure smut. It's Christmas Eve, 1999, and Jack is preoccupied with an enthusiastic bedmate. Not that it stops the existential thoughts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Muddle Through Somehow

"Happy holidays to _me_ ," Jack groaned happily. He was stretched out in his bunk, buck naked and knees up, toes curling as about eighty kilos of angel slid down on his cock.

He'd had his fill of Christmas at least two centuries ago. Back then it was a novel thing, so different from the life he knew before. You could hardly throw a stick without hitting a Presbyterian, or a Methodist, or a Catholic, or a Lutheran, or something in between, back in the Eighteenth century. Christmas was a convoluted thing full of penitence, alms, charity work and a near round-the-clock participation in the church.

When Jack was a boy, Christianity was a historical artifact. A myth. A powerhouse of human marketing practices lost to time and distance. The further humans got from Earth, the less they seemed to see their God.

Ironic, that. And here he was, in the Twenty-First Century, with an actual bona-fide Angel of the Lord straddling his hips and fucking himself on Jack's dick like it was the best thing he'd ever felt.

Castiel got a grip on himself by a thread, hands sliding up his thighs to cup himself as he slowed down. His spine arched, a guttural moan tearing loose like he'd dragged it over gravel. Hot damn, Castiel was intense. Jack wasn't always in the mood for the kind of sex that sucked all the oxygen out of the room, but when he was, Castiel was more than happy to be tossed behind the proverbial bush. He kissed Jack like an arsonist strikes a match, hungry and gleeful and a little psychotic, and his hands were fire.

Maybe they'd get bored of each other, Jack thought. Maybe, after the ball dropped in a week and people had bigger things to fuss about than a 'Y2K bug' or what the Mayan calendar had to say, Castiel would find more productive projects than civilizing an immortal man. But what the hell, he had nothing to do and nowhere to go tonight. The office party was over, all of his teammates paired off or too inebriated to move.

And some kind of cocked up Soldier of God wanted him. Wanted him in the most primordial, carnal way, with a body that shivered even at Jack's fingernails on his chest. Jack wasn't sure he believed in what Castiel believed, wasn't sure Castiel was anything but a well-meaning extraterrestrial with a hero complex the size of Western Europe.

But he was in Jack's bed, and Jack was in him, and Castiel had just turned around and was doing the kind of writhing you pretty much only saw in films. Because absolutely nobody loved cock that much. Right?

Whatever Castiel was, Jack was good with it. Good with him. Could use about three more of him, really. And if Castiel occasionally cried the wrong name and a bruised, tender little part of Jack really really kind of pathetically didn't want Castiel to leave in the morning, well, that made tonight hotter for the grief.

Beautifully, terribly fucked up, the pair of them.


End file.
